


Today is for Lovers (So What the **** Am I Doing?)

by peanutbutterpianist



Series: Firsts Are Complicated (Should They Be?) [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Firsts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Valentine's Day, Victor's Potty Mouth, because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10967094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterpianist/pseuds/peanutbutterpianist
Summary: "No. No, no, no, no, NO. Do not take another step closer.Victor felt like holding his head in his hands and returning to the closet to hide."Victor should, by nature, be GREAT at Valentine's Day affairs.What if he...isn't?AKA the First Time Victor Feels Romantically Inadequate.





	Today is for Lovers (So What the **** Am I Doing?)

**Author's Note:**

> I was GOING to finally post the promised Steamy-Goodness installment this weekend, but...I ended up doodling this out in between finals so.
> 
> A First Valentine's Day fic? Not really...more like First Time Victor Feels Romantically Inadequate.
> 
> Steamy-Goodness will come by next weekend! Pinky promise! Thank-you, reviewers, bookmark-ers, kudos-givers. Y'all make me so happy, you have no idea!

            _No. No, no, no, no, NO._ Do _not_ take another step closer.

Victor felt like holding his head in his hands and returning to the closet to hide.

 

* * *

 

 

            It had been one _hell_ of a morning. Followed by one _hell_ of an afternoon.

            Not because of anything _bad_ , per say. Oh, no, nothing of the sort! Quite the opposite! It was a _wonderful_ day in a lot of _wonderful_ ways but _oh God_ what on earth was Victor supposed to _do?_

            He was Victor Nikiforov. _The_ Victor Nikiforov. Sure. Great.

            A gentleman. A suave, sexy, romantic gentleman.

            Who’d just been completely outdone on _the most romantic day of the year_ by his sweet little naïve fiancé, who was apparently thinking nothing of it.

            _What the hell?_

            Victor had woken that morning to find himself lying facedown on the mattress, instead of on Yuuri’s chest, and with their comforter pulled up high on his shoulders instead of Yuuri’s arms around his back.

            _What the hell?_

It wasn’t an alarm that had woken him up, either; instead, the room smelled vaguely of coffee and _something else_. Cinnamon, maybe? And something salty—butter, perhaps?

            _What the hell?_

At least this wasn’t some sort of weird nightmare where Yuuri had never moved to St. Petersburg with him after all, where he’d wake up cold and alone to feed Makkachin in an empty apartment and skate on an empty rink until his knees gave out under him…

            Nope. Not gonna dwell on that. Bad dreams were more than enough; they didn’t deserve time in the waking-world.

            As Victor rolled over with a groan of displeasure at the lack of another warm, breathing body in his bed and the good-morning kiss he required to actually get up, he spotted something on Yuuri’s pillow.

            An envelope?

            Oh, it was addressed to him, in rather sloppy…Cyrillic. _Cyrillic?_

            Victor felt the corners of his lips pulling up at the sight.

            Inside _wasn’t_ a fancy, glittered greeting card, but a note instead, plain black ink skittering across the unlined paper in carefully penned English scrawl.

            _Dear Victor,_

_Happy Valentines Day! I’ve never really celebrated Valentine’s Day before, so give me a bit of grace, please? Anyway, I just wanted to say how glad I am to be living together with you. You’re a wonderful fiancé, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t know what else to say, except that you make me so happy, and I hope that I make you happy, too. I love you. Let’s have a good practice today, okay?_

_Sincerely,_

_Yuuri_

Oh. Oh, _oh, OH._ Victor slid the note back into its envelope after pressing it to his quivering lips. His cheeks felt strained from smiling so wide, so early in the morning. There was a pleasant buzz in his chest, somewhere behind his ribs where something warm was fluttering, threatening to make him dizzy with nervous energy.

            Victor wandered into the kitchen after securely tucking the note into his skate bag because he was _definitely_ going to want to re-read it a few more times throughout the day. He was met by a breathtaking eyeful of his fiancé in _Victor’s own bathrobe_ , which barely reached Yuuri’s mid-thigh and pulled taught across his ass—which it most certainly _did not_ on Victor himself. The fabric was cinched tight around his not-quite-competition-season waist, which was still _stupidly tiny_ and—

            _Dear Lord, forgive me._ Forget breakfast. Yuuri himself looked utterly _delicious_ , hair swept back and glasses lightly fogged as he flipped a couple of eggs in the frying pan, seasoning it with something like nonchalance.

            “Oh, Victor! Good, you’re up,” he chirped, glancing over his shoulder. “How do you want your eggs? Over easy?”

            Victor swallowed. His briefs felt a little tight, and he tried to shake off the feeling. _Too early for this silliness, Victor. He’s just making breakfast, for Christ’s sake._ “Perfect,” he managed to huff.

            Yuuri had already set two bowls of hot oatmeal with cinnamon and a generous drizzle of honey—a treat actually approved by Yakov—on the edge of the counter.

Victor may as well _try_ to be useful. “Should I get plates?”

            “Oh, thank-you, that’d be great!” Yuuri tossed him a smile that threatened to shatter what little sanity remained in Victor’s brain.

            Once everything was set on the little dinette table, Yuuri went to sit but _oh no, Katsudon, not yet_. Victor darted to his side, catching him from behind, arms wrapping around his chest and tucking his face into the side of his fiancé’s neck. The Russian knew he probably _reeked_ of morning breath— _wow, how romantic, Victor; good job—_ but he couldn’t help it.

            “Thank-you for breakfast, Yuuri,” he murmured, squeezing Yuuri’s tense, surprised frame, “and thank-you for the note. Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.”

            Yuuri hummed something low, relaxing and leaning back into Victor’s hold with a soft huff. He could feel the younger man smiling where their cheeks were pressed together, and it was quickly becoming one of his favorite sensations in the world, he decided.

            Victor decided to walk Makkachin to give Yuuri more time to himself to shower without rushing, and the Japanese man looked exhaustedly grateful. His shuffling steps into the bathroom made something along Victor’s spine tingle.

            Once Victor was out, scarf wrapped tight around his face and Makkachin sniffing some tree roots beside him, _it_ hit him hard:

            It was barely seven-thirty in the morning, and Yuuri had already out-done him in the romance department, hadn’t he?

            _Shit._

            Okay, wait. Wait _wait WAIT._ The day had barely started. Victor still had time to sweep his fiancé off his feet! Of course he did, and of course he _would!_

            Yes. Yes, he would.

            He was Victor Nikiforov, of course. This would be a piece of cake.

 

            Their lunch break came around, and Yuuri went darting off to the locker room with all the gusto of a hamster in a wheel, barely stopping to put on his skate guards. He returned moments later with a few small packages bundled in his hands.

            _What?_

He first returned to ice and sped to the opposite end, where Yurio was working on his spins. He handed something to the petite blond, who shouted and sputtered something only halfway intelligible in response. Just as Victor wondered if he needed to intervene, the younger skater ducked his head, blushing furiously and mouthing something that looked like a bashful _spacibo._

_What the hell?_

Then Yuuri, after ditching his skates, ran over to where Yakov, Mila, and Georgi where already having lunch on the sidelines, handing one of the little packages to each of them, plus a second one to Yakov after glancing around, looking flustered.

_What the hell?_

By then, Victor had taken off his own skates and came over to figure out just _what the hell was going on_.

“I don’t really know how Valentine’s Day works here,” Yuuri half-mumbled in English, “but in Japan, you gave chocolates to all your friends and the people important to you, so.” He trailed off, looking down to where his feet were pigeon toeing together.

Of course, Mila gushed and promptly tore hers open, squealing over the taste of the heart-shaped confections. She was followed promptly by Georgi, who loudly declared with a wave of his hand that the Japanese tradition was one of the most _magnificent acts of humanity_ he’d ever heard of. Yakov grumbled, but promised to deliver the last little package to Lilia, as Yuuri had apparently requested.

“Oh, Victor!” Yuuri whipped around, finally noticing the presence of his coach, wide-eyed and with a fine tremble in his flailing hands. “I have yours back in the locker room, sorry! I couldn’t carry them all at once. Come with me?”

“Ah, sure, okay.” And when he took Yuuri’s proffered hand, he found himself being dragged along, away from the rink, almost tripping over his own feet in the process.

It took a solid minute for Yuuri to ruffle through his skate bag, which wasn’t surprising seeing how he was _shaking_ with what could only have been nerves.

_Cute._

He eventually popped back up to his feet, holding out a package in both hands with his head down. It was a little bigger than ones given to the other Russians, and was wrapped up in red tissue paper and tied shut with a gold-ribbon bow.

“Um, Happy Valentine’s Day again, Victor. You, ah, you like dark chocolate, right?”

Victor took the package with care, swallowing thickly. He didn’t know whether to look at it, or at Yuuri’s slowly heaving collarbones as the younger man breathed. “Yeah, it’s my favorite,” he said belatedly. He ran a finger over the delicate paper, which was decorated with an elegant gold-leaf scroll. “May I open it?”

“O-Of course!” Yuuri sat down heavily on a bench, still looking away, and Victor took his cue to take the spot beside him. He leaned against the smaller man’s frame, hoping it would ease his tremors at least a little.

Yuuri leaned back against him, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

_Oh. What was this?_

When Victor had carefully undone the ribbon bow and tugged on the paper, he was greeted with—

“Poodles?” He gasped, bringing his free hand up over his lips. “Yuuri, are these _chocolate poodles?_ ”

“Ah, yeah.” Yuuri bunched the fabric of his pants in his hands.

 _God_ , they were _cute_. “Where on _earth_ did you find these? They’re amazing!” Victor had never seen anything like them before.

Yuuri’s feet shuffled around. “Well, I found some corgi molds online, and then I asked the guy who made them if he could do poodle molds too, and then—”

“Wait.” _Wait, what the…what the hell?_ “Molds?” Victor looked more closely at the chocolates in his lap, all dark and beautifully glossy, shaped like perfectly teddy-bear-clipped poodles, complete with little lighter-chocolate dots for collar tags. “Yuuri, did you…did you _make_ these?”

“Um, yes?”

Yuuri finally decided to look up, right then, which _wasn’t fair_ because Victor’s jaw was halfway to the floor and he probably looked ridiculous.

When had Yuuri found the time to make these? He _had_ admittedly been getting up early the past week, and last night, he’d gotten up in the middle of the night…Victor thought he’d gone to the bathroom, but maybe he’d never actually come back to bed.

            _Oh._ Victor’s chest ached. No wonder there were the beginnings of purple smears under Yuuri’s eyes.

            The chocolates were _delicious,_ for the record, and well worth any extra calories he’d have to cut elsewhere.

 

            They didn’t end up going anywhere _decent_ for dinner because while Victor could have _sworn_ that their reservations were for six o’clock, the maître d’ insisted it had been for _five o’clock_. Everywhere else close by was either thoroughly booked or just generally too noisy or crowded for Yuuri’s comfort after such a long day. And _of course_ , seeing how _exhausted_ had Yuuri looked as he slipped on his dress shirt and slacks, Victor wanted nothing more than to let Yuuri relax.

            So they’d ended up having _schi_ at a tiny mom-and-pop joint, a bit out of place in their formalwear, followed later by a lazy stroll through the park with Makkachin tugging at the lead thanks to a rather oblivious seagull who kept circling around to chitter at the three of them.

            It wasn’t a particularly _romantic_ way to spend an evening, really.

            But Yuuri looked happy. He wore a soft flush and a smile gentle enough to match; they suited him even better than his well-tailored slacks and burgundy tie.

            At least Victor had managed to pick up the flowers he’d ordered while Yuuri was showering earlier, and they were safely hidden in the back of their linen closet.

            “Shall we head back, Victor?”

            He blinked and squeezed Yuuri’s gloved hand with his own, laughing at Makkachin’s disappointed whines as the pooch stared longingly after the departing form of their new bird-‘friend’.

            “Of course, _lyubov_.”

 

            They’d put away their coats, tucked Makkachin in for the night, and Victor had run off to the closet to retrieve the box of chocolates and the bouquet of flowers there when it _hit him_ like a punch to the gut.

            Storebought chocolates and flowers.

            That was it. That was _it. That’s_ what he’d gotten Yuuri for their first Valentine’s Day together.

            _What the fuck._

            Yuuri had _made_ the world’s _cutest,_ most _perfect_ chocolates, probably in the middle of the night. Yuuri had left him the sweetest note Victor had _ever_ received. Had gotten up first to make Victor breakfast, like something out of a movie. Had somehow turned a dinner of _soup_ in an alleyway somewhere into something vaguely _magical_ with his breathless smile and endless questions about the city and all that Victor loved about it.

            _What the fuck._

            Failure. What a _fucking failure_ you are, Victor Nikiforov.

            “Victor?” Yuuri had called from the living room. “I’m going to go shower first, is that okay?”

            If Victor was going to act, if he was going to do _anything at all_ , it had be _right then_.

            So he had trudged into the living room, where Yuuri was petting Makkachin’s not-quite-slumbering head, flowers in one hand, and the box of chocolates in the other, and _he felt like shit_.

            Which led Victor to where he stood in their living room, mentally screaming _No, no, no, no, NO_ at himself.

            Yuuri looked up from where he knelt beside the dogbed. “V-Victor?”

            Victor put on his best smile—his finest, most polished, picture-perfect media-pleasing _bullshitting_ smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Yuuri,” he proclaimed, sweeping one arm, the one with the bunch of _stupid_ flowers, out in a flourish. Just like the end of a routine.

            His chest felt tight. It _hurt_.

            And worse, Yuuri didn’t seem…

            Didn’t seem _what?_ Impressed? _Thrilled_? _Happy,_ even?

            _Damn it._

            Yuuri’s eyebrows were pulled together into a hard line as he stood. “Victor,” he murmured, slowly, quietly. “Are you okay?”

            _Charming. Be charming, Victor._ “Hmm? Of course, Yuuri! Why wouldn’t I be?” He shut his eyes, tilting his head. _Charming. God dammit, be charming, Victor. Be fucking charming!_

            But Yuuri was coming closer and _no, no, no, no, NO._ He couldn’t just _do_ that! Victor’s eyes shot back open to find Yuuri all but _in_ his personal space, looking up at him curiously.

            “Victor?”

            _No. No, please, don’t. Please don’t get any closer, please don’t touch me, not right now. Because if you touch me, you’ll know how screwed up I am, and I—_

_Fuck._

Yuuri reached out a hand to his chest with all the care of a mother bird, and _shit_. If Victor had a tell, _that_ was it. All the tension in his frame, hidden behind his polished suit. All the tremors running like tiny sparks through bones. _Shit._

            Victor shut his eyes tight. Whatever _stupid_ things had been in his hands dropped to the ground with a sickening, hollow _thunk_ to the floor. Where they belonged in the first place. Because they weren’t enough, they couldn’t be enough.

            He couldn’t be enough. There was _no way_.

            His chest ached. The warm _something_ behind his ribs didn’t feel warm anymore. Someone had turned off the heater, and all that his heart could do was shiver.

            Yuuri was rubbing soft circles into it, but it wasn’t helping.

            The older man felt nothing but self-conscious of every whisking gallop-beat of his heart. _Fuck. Damn._

“Victor?” Yuuri’s voice was quiet, but he may as well have slammed a pair of pans together next to Victor’s ears. He tried to shut it out. “Victor, please, look at me?”

            _Shit._ Yuuri sounded _hurt_. Good going, Victor.

            He cracked one eye open, then two.

            Yuuri stared up at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “Would you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked, fingers still brushing up and down Victor’s breastbone. It was anything _but_ comforting. “It’s…it’s alright if not everything is okay, you know. But you should tell me. Please?”

            “You’re wonderful,” Victor blurted with the voice of a disturbed grizzly bear. “And I botched everything.”

            Yuuri looked…confused. “Botched? Botched _what_ , Victor?”

            “It’s Valentine’s Day!” He felt a little breathless. He wanted to dart to the other end of the apartment, out of sight, and forget _everything_ , but Yuuri was holding him still with nothing but his gaze and his hand resting just above the embarrassingly frantic dancing of his heart. “It’s our _first_ Valentine’s Day as a couple,” he added, glancing away. “You did all these great, sweet, _personal_ things— _romantic_ things—and _I_ just—” He broke off. _I just bought you flowers and chocolate. Any douchebag could do that._

            “What? Victor, what are you _talking_ about?” Yuuri huffed a bit, adjusting his glasses. “If anyone should feel _embarrassed,_ it should be _me_. I mean, come on: I didn’t even _get_ you flowers. I just bought confectionary molds off the internet and _cheap_ chocolate at the store because I’m still figuring out how to transfer things to the local bank.”

            “I _just_ bought you things, though!” Victor was shouting, now, airily so. “Anyone could have done that—done _better,_ really—”

            “Do you honestly think that?” Yuuri’s voice was so quiet, he’d almost missed the words, but they shut him up completely, halted the fire in his brain in its tracks. “Do you really think just _anyone_ would know that I don’t particularly like red roses, that I think they’re cheesy?” he pressed. “You even remembered how much I like peonies and chrysanthemums.” The Japanese man was smiling delicately, reaching his free hand up to cup Victor’s cheek with it. “You told me at least twenty times today that you love me, which is more than I could do—you’re so brave, you know? And, it looks like that box of chocolates is custom, am I right?” Yuuri winked, and _woah,_ he was at least a little bit nervous, if the crack in his voice was anything to go by. “What’s in it?”

            Victor’s thoughts scrambled for purchase on the ice inside his head. “Ah, um, raspberry truffles and…and toffee. And the dark chocolates with marshmallow in the middle that you like so much?”

            Yuuri’s smile right then was so obviously, utterly _charmed_ , and his flush was so _perfect_ and he looked a little wobbly and _Oh my God._ “See? I don’t think _just anybody_ could have done that.”

            _Oh._ Maybe Yuuri had a bit of a point there. Victor _had_ put a lot of thought into how he’d wanted the flowers arranged—he had been _very_ particular about it, and it had been pretty difficult getting what he’d requested in the middle of February. And oh, he’d spent _months_ trying to figure out what kind of sweets Yuuri liked, watching his scattered habits whenever the younger man would sneak an extra treat after practice…

            _Oh._

            Yuuri leaned up, pressing their hips together lightly. “You know what would make all this _perfect,_ though? What else I really want?”

            The Japanese man looked a bit wicked, but also a bit… _shy?_

            Actually, scratch that. He looked _terribly_ shy. As shy as Victor felt at that moment.

            “Of course, Yuuri! What is it?” _Anything you want. I’ll go running out right now for anything—a movie, ice cream, a gold statue of Makkachin—_

“I’d really like a hug,” he whispered, looking down at his sock-clad feet. “A-And maybe a kiss. You…you haven’t kissed me yet today, you know.”

            _Oh._

            Victor’s heart sputtered under Yuuri’s palm, pausing for a brief moment before it raced again, this time against Yuuri’s chest as Victor all but melted the younger man into himself.

            “I think…I think that can be arranged,” he rasped out against the shell of his fiancé’s ear. He pulled back just enough to move to press their lips together, but Yuuri shook his head and slipped a hand up between them before they could make any sort of contact.

            “Victor,” he whispered, “this is the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had, you know.”

            _Ha. What a compliment…_ “You’ve never had a lover before, last I checked,” Victor muttered, glancing away.

            “Oh, shut up; that’s not the point!” Yuuri was laughing, bright and chime-like, and Victor felt quite appropriately chastised. “You’re wonderful, and the most thoughtfully-romantic person I know, and best of all, you’re _mine_. You’re all worried about being—I don’t know, being…what, _charming_ enough for me? You actually love me that much?” He grinned, tightening his grip around Victor’s waist. Victor swallowed hard, a single breath escaping harshly from his parted lips. “I love you, too. Frankly, that’s all I really care about right now. So,” he reached up on his tiptoes, breathing out shakily, “are you going to kiss me today, or what?”

            _Ah. Okay._

Victor took his time drinking in a long drawl of air before letting his eyelids fall shut, tilting his head to the side _just so_. Yuuri’s lips welcomed his as easily as his arms welcomed Victor’s whole body.

He ran a hand up and down the younger man’s spine before rubbing his thumb into his left shoulder, just the way Yuuri liked it.

The way he _knew_ Yuuri liked it.

            The way _he_ knew Yuuri liked it.

            _Ah. Aaahh. There we go. Okay._

Victor sighed into the kiss, bathing himself in sound of his fiancé’s soft pants like he was sinking into the waters of a cleansing spring. Like he was back in Hasetsu’s hot but _oh so wonderful_ waters. His chest felt warm, inside and out.

            _Happy Valentine’s Day, Yuuri. I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr now...finally? Same username as here. Come scream at/with me about these dorks?


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